Free The Upside of Down by Susan Biggar

fact, the first Sunday when we pulled up on Darryl’s motorbike in front of the squat 1950s building with its brutally ugly facade I nearly told him to drive away. This was not my scene. But both Darryl and I were drawn in by Gavin.
    A tall, athletic and ruddy fifty-year-old, he is not a typical church pastor. He’s known for riding an antique Indian motorbike and dropping home-grown cabbage and silver beet in the mailboxes of friends around Island Bay. An intellectual with a deep faith, he thrives on meaty debate and inquiry, often responding to questions with questions, rather than pre-packaged establishment answers.
    During our first year in New Zealand, Gavin and his wife Jenny had become dear, trusted friends. An avid cyclist, Gavin asked Darryl to join him on a hundred-mile bike ride around Lake Taupo in the middle of the North Island. They spent hours training, often followed by theological or philosophical discussions, thriving on the physical and intellectual workout. After Aidan was diagnosed, Gavin and Jenny were by our side, supportive, kind, unfazed by expressions of anger at the Almighty.
    Early one Saturday morning, a few months after Aidan’s birth, we had been awoken by a phone call.
    â€˜Susan, is that you? It’s Keith Taylor.’ Keith is a friend and lay leader in the church.
    â€˜Oh, hi Keith. Uh, what time is it?’
    â€˜Yeah, sorry to wake you. I know it’s early.’
    â€˜That’s okay. What’s up?’
    â€˜Look, I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but Gavin … he died last night.’
    â€˜What? That’s not possible.’ His words were totally implausible; he might just as well have said he spent the night on Pluto.
    â€˜I’m sorry, but it’s true.’
    â€˜Keith, we just saw him. In fact, we were with him last night and he was fine.’
    â€˜I know …’
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜We think it was a heart attack. He and Jenny were in bed, she woke up and called the ambulance but it was too late.’ Darryl was awake by this time, listening, shocked and crying.
    â€˜How’s Jenny? What can we do?’
    â€˜She’s okay. Trying to contact all the family right now. But she’s having a problem with her email. Maybe Darryl could go around and see if he can get it sorted.’
    â€˜Sure. That’s fine … Okay, thanks for letting us know, Keith.’
    The entire community was devastated by this loss, especially for Jenny and the kids. In the weeks and months that followed, Darryl and I struggled to keep our emotional and theological footing without Gavin’s steady hand. The church forged on, leaderless, with Keith trying to tend the wounded. Without Gavin, we began to wonder if this church would continue to fit us. But I was committed to working with the young people and thrived on those relationships, so we stayed.
    ***
    Nearly a year has now passed since Gavin’s death. During the eleven-week waiting period before our CVS we were optimistic and relatively open about our pregnancy, telling several friends from church. Immediately after the abortion, word passes through the church community amongst the People Who Care about these things. All of them seem to view this as a black-and-white issue and, not surprisingly, we’re on the black side.
    The first letters arrive within a few days of our return from hospital.
    Dear Susan,
    My heart goes out to both of you and to your child … I will continue to support you and Aidan, but I still believe every life is of value and every child is precious even if they’re less than perfect. I believe the taking of a child’s life is wrong no matter how young they are or how imperfect … I feel a deep sense of grief for your child and its lack of chance at life .
    Dear Susan,
    I want to affirm you and support you in every way I can. I treasure Aidan as one of God’s children … How could you kill Aidan’s